


self-care

by summercourtship



Series: the gore becomes routine | Dead By Daylight Short Fics [1]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Medical stuff, Not Romance, Pre-Relationship, but thats ok, he still stabs you but thats just how he is, i guess?????, i have no idea what this is, probably!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26659726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summercourtship/pseuds/summercourtship
Summary: Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t say anything. But he also doesn’t move, and you take a step forward. “That needle in your arm can’t be very comfortable. Can I take care of it?”He looks at you. You look back, peering into the eyes of his mask, searching for the actual human eyes underneath. And slowly, he gives you a miniscule movement of his head. You hope it means yes.(i.e. taking care of that needle in Michael's arm in his hospital gown outfit because I hate needles.)
Relationships: Michael Myers/Reader, Michael Myers/You
Series: the gore becomes routine | Dead By Daylight Short Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939777
Comments: 3
Kudos: 70





	self-care

**Author's Note:**

> this is stupid and tbh out of character but this is the only capacity i can write fluff for michael. Also I know nothing about medical anything but I’m not presenting anything as a fact or as the right thing to do in this situation, really the opposite. Also I know that the tube in your arm isn’t technically a needle (I did look that up) but eh. Semantics.

The Entity, it seems, has a weird sense of humor. 

Regularly in trials, you would find yourself in new clothes. Some from your pre-Fog life (those were always nice) and some from who-knows-where. You appreciate the occasional aesthetic change, but overall they were just a different way to torture you. Especially when the outfits were mashed together pieces from others- one day had you in a puffy jacket, short-shorts, and flip-flops (which promptly broke two minutes into that trial).

It wasn’t just Survivors who the Entity decided to play dress up with. Every now and again, the Killer would show up in a new outfit, most more horrifying than the last. Oh, the Nurse’s normal outfit was working for you? What if she was wearing a gas mask like a terrifying apocalyptic World War Two field nurse? 

No, thanks.

So you try to not pay attention to any cosmetic changes in the Killers- though it is hard to ignore it on yourself or your friends. Occasionally, you get a cute quip about how good your teammates look in their new clothes, but the horrors of the trial quickly shut those up. It’s only if the outfit stays on when you’re back at the Campfire that you really get to admire- or make fun of- the fashion taste of the Entity. 

And so, unlife goes on. 

The current match you’re in has you in a different version of your normal clothes- slightly different coloring, but otherwise the same comfortable ensemble. You’re alone, and have been since the trial started. One generator has been fixed, and you can’t help but wonder if the others have found each other. You haven’t strayed outside of the area you woke up in, on high alert for any sign of who the Killer may be. Your eyes focus on any and all suspicious shadows, searching for the outline of one of the more sneaky Killers. 

It’s just a hunch, but normally when the trial has been as suspiciously quiet as this one has, it means one of two things: a lazy Killer who doesn’t want to try or one who stalks his prey first. And you have your doubts about the former. 

A chest hidden in a small clearing of trees yields a rusty medkit, with only a few loose bandages rattling around inside. You sigh, but count your blessings that it’s not a fucking map. You slowly close the chest, before starting to look for a generator. Normally, the MacMillian Estate has one in this general area, you just have to actually find it.

Another minute passes with no sign of the Killer.

It’s only when you’re halfway through repairing the closest generator, still peeking over your shoulder every few seconds, when you catch a glimpse of the Killer in the distance. He’s chasing one of your teammates- Dwight, by the looks of it- and you track their movements with your eyes. The tall figure follows him at what could be described as a casual walking pace, but with purpose. 

The Shape.

As Dwight- unknowingly- brings him closer to your current location, you continue watching out of the corner of your eye. And suppress a giggle when you notice what Michael is wearing (how did you not notice it sooner?). Aside from his mask, the only clothing he has on is a simple white hospital gown, the only accessories a few stains and tears. It would seem the Entity had gotten bored of Michael’s one outfit and given him a new one, presumably taken from his past. You wonder how he feels about it.

It’s strange seeing his skin. 

Dwight manages to run Michael around for another minute, but Michael finally downs him. Thankfully, it isn’t close enough that you feel like you’re in immediate danger, but you put all your focus on the generator so you can get away as soon as possible. You have no idea if Michael noticed you in the heat of the chase, but you certainly wouldn’t put it past him.

The generator clicks on at the same time Michael puts Dwight on the hook, the latter’s scream cutting through the night. Okay. Okay. Game plan- slowly get away from this area (can’t leave marks, he’ll see), see if you can unhook Dwight (unless someone else miraculously gets there first), find another gen (preferably away from here). 

In the few seconds it took to mentally plan out your next movements, Michael has started to make his way over to you. New plan: get out. You take a few hasty steps backwards before turning and sprinting. Meg graciously taught you how to control your breathing to support a sprint, and you are eternally grateful. 

When you are fairly certain that you’ve lost the Shape for now, in addition to being sufficiently exhausted from your running, you slow to a fast walk. Praying that someone else is taking care of Dwight, you head towards the nearest generator, kneeling and immediately starting work. 

Your focus on your work is only broken by two simultaneous realizations- no one has saved Dwight (evident by the deep rumbling sound of a sacrifice being taken) and you are being watched. Whipping around, you stare right at Michael, who stands half hidden behind a tree. _Just how long has he been there?_

He does nothing. Well, outwardly. You’re sure he’s immensely enjoying this. And, despite yourself and all the alarm bells ringing in your head, you turn back around and continue to work on the generator. It’s almost done, and you can handle being stabbed if that’s what it takes to finish it. You do, however, keep an eye on him and, similar to before, check over your shoulder every few seconds. The most he does is move a few inches from behind the tree and towards you, but you ignore his movements and push on. 

When the final gear is fixed and the lights click on, signifying its completion, you stand and turn away from the generator again. Michael’s much closer now, but still does nothing. You take in his new outfit, able to see the old, rust-red bloodstains on the fabric, and the ties on the side of the gown. But most interestingly, his left arm has a torn IV drip hanging loose.

You wince at a distant memory of an IV drip in your own arm, feeling as if you couldn’t move for fear of disrupting it. Or worse, just feeling the object moving around in your vein. Gross. 

And it is in this brief trip down memory lane that you break the weird silence between the two of you. “Hey, um, Michael?” 

Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t say anything. But he also doesn’t move, and you take a step forward. “That needle in your arm can’t be very comfortable. Can I take care of it?” 

He still doesn’t move. In response to this, you do the dumbest thing anyone could possibly do and slowly reach out and grab his arm. He keeps it relaxed, almost limp, but he does tilt his head to look at where your hand touches his skin. You hold up the rusty medkit. “I have some bandages left, I can wrap it up so it doesn’t bleed.” _Why do you care if he bleeds or not?_

He looks at you. You look back, peering into the eyes of his mask, searching for the actual human eyes underneath. And slowly, he gives you a miniscule movement of his head. You hope it means yes.

“I’m not medically trained, but it’ll be better than nothing.”

You stare at the IV, realizing that perhaps you’d promised something you couldn’t do. It should be so simple, but you can suddenly imagine everything that can go wrong with this. You’re right- you're not medically trained. You aren’t even close. And then you remember that this is Michael Myers and he can probably deal with a little pain. And you shouldn’t feel bad if you do cause him pain, all things considered.

You decide to take care of the tape first, gently rubbing the frayed edges to peel them up. The tape is easy to peel once the edges have been taken care of, and you’re careful to not disturb the IV too much as you’re removing it.

“Okay, I’m going to take the needle out now.” You say, looking back up at him. You rarely (if ever) are this close to him, unless he’s carrying you to a hook. The close proximity really makes you aware of the height difference between you, your head only barely reaching his shoulders. “Oh, wait. Let me go ahead and get the bandages ready. I’ll just put the IV in the bag when it’s out, it’ll be useless anyway.” You remove your hand from his arm, unzipping the medkit. It takes a second as the zipper gets stuck halfway and you have to grit your teeth and pull it hard. Once it’s finally open, you pull out the loose roll of bandages. 

“It would be better if I had medical tape and a bit of cotton, but this’ll do. At least until you can get back into your old clothes.” 

You slowly pull the IV drip out, wincing at the tiny spot of blood that appears on Michael’s arm. Quickly, you drop the tube into the medkit and unravel the bandage, trying not to rush yourself in your hurry to stop the bleeding. Grabbing his arm again, you begin wrapping the bandage around, trying to not wind it too tight. His skin isn’t particularly soft or rough, but it isn’t awful to touch. Once it’s finished, you tuck the loose end in and drop his arm. He lowers it back to his side, slowly clenching and unclenching his hand.

“There.” You smile at him, and for a second he is still, head quirked to the side as he looks at you. Then, quickly, he raises his right arm and brings the knife down under your right collarbone. Yelping, you grab his hand, trying to yank the blade out. He doesn’t budge, and you cry out in pain as his presses it in deeper. You continue to push at his hand, silently begging for him to stop. As if he heard your thoughts, he complies, though most definitely because he wanted to, not because you had somehow managed to change his mind. Without his arm ironically keeping you standing, you teeter in place for a second before your legs give out from under you. 

Luckily, you manage to crumple into a dignified heap, no further injuries sustained from your fall. He stares down at you for a moment longer, before turning and leaving. You wish you could say you were surprised that this happened, but it was really only a matter of time. At least you managed to do him a favor, a kindness you doubt he’d ever return.

You fold one of your arms- the one that won’t irritate your injury to move- to put under your head and watch him leave. _He’s got nice calves_ \- no, stop that. You’re in pain and bleeding out, this is not the time to think about how much skin this outfit shows off. You should be focusing your energy on trying to recover, just in case someone manages to come by to save your ass. 

Crawling to a nice patch of grass, you lay in silence, listening to the fake nature sounds the Entity has generated around you. _This is nice, I guess._

Somewhere in your dying haze, you recognize the distant sounds of someone being hooked. Then another person being hooked. You wonder if it was the same person getting hooked twice, or if both of your remaining teammates were downed that quickly. You suppose you’re partially to blame there, taking care of something that might have hindered Michael. Though, you reason with yourself, it is pretty unlikely that he would’ve actually let it keep him from killing.

 _I’m going to die soon._ Bleeding out is a rare occurrence for you, but it is certainly the least painful way to die. It’s really just immensely uncomfortable, the way your body struggles to take in oxygen, gasping for breath. You try, in vain, to regulate your breathing, but you know it’s a lost cause.

Two sacrifices are taken. The ground shaking irritates your wound, and you grunt from the pain, but are unable to move to try to alleviate some of the discomfort. Your vision is getting cloudy, and you watch as two pale legs come into view. You don’t fully comprehend what that really means, and just stare at the shapes with unfocused eyes. Lacking the strength to move your head, you simply listen to the steady breathing above you as you slowly fade away.

**Author's Note:**

> im tired of looking at this and i literally have no idea what this really was. just a thing, i guess.
> 
> im on tumblr @summercourtship


End file.
